


What Happens in Italy...

by thequidditchpitch_archivist



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Book 7: Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, Comedy, Drama, Explicit Language, Not Epilogue Compliant, Post War, Post-War, Romance, The Quidditch Pitch: Eternity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-05-15
Updated: 2008-05-25
Packaged: 2018-10-27 01:52:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 14,324
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10799229
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thequidditchpitch_archivist/pseuds/thequidditchpitch_archivist
Summary: On a trip to the Quidditch World Cup in Rome, Ginny sees Draco for the first time in eight years. To her surprise, a torch she didn’t know she was carrying is relit.





	1. Part One

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Annie, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Quidditch Pitch](http://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Quidditch_Pitch), which went offline in 2015 when the hosting expired, at a time I was not able to renew it. I contacted Open Doors, hoping to preserve the archive using an old backup, and began importing these works as an Open Doors-approved project in April 2017. Open Doors e-mailed all authors about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact us using the e-mail address on [The Quidditch Pitch collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/thequidditchpitch/profile).
> 
>  **Author's notes:** With thanks to Demy for the help with the Italian and to my flist (but especially Carmen) for listening and giving encouragement. This fic would be utter rubbish were it not for Diane and Ada, who are far better beta readers than I am a writer. Any remaining errors are mine alone.
> 
> Originally written as a gift for [](http://vilgsacolin.livejournal.com/profile)[**vilgsacolin**](http://vilgsacolin.livejournal.com/) at the [](http://community.livejournal.com/dgficexchange/profile)[](http://community.livejournal.com/dgficexchange/)**dgficexchange** , nominated for Sweetest Fic and winner of Most in Need of a Sequel.

** What Happens in Italy… **

Not there but here,  
(He whispers) only here,  
As we are, here, together, now and here,  
Always you and I.

Counting the beats,  
Counting the slow heart beats,  
The bleeding to death of time in slow heart beats,  
Wakeful they lie.

\-- From ‘Counting the Beats’ by Robert Graves.

**Part One**

She landed on the hard wooden floor with a thud. This, Ginny Weasley mused, was exactly why she hated to travel by Portkey. A hand pulled her to her feet, and she found herself face to face with a tall, dark and handsome man. Just her luck, really.

‘Buon giorno,’ he said, a smirk playing across his handsome features. Ginny suppressed the urge to roll her eyes. Okay, she had landed on her arse at the age of twenty-four, but he must have seen that sort of thing all the time. Right?

‘Ciao,’ Ginny said, shaking his hand. ‘Parli inglese?’

‘Yes.’ The smirk seemed to disappear to be replaced with a warm smile. Her dad had been right, it was a good idea to attempt the language as much as possible.

‘Well, I’m Ginny’ – or would she be down as Ginevra? – ‘erm, Weasley. I’m with the _Daily Prophet_. There’s supposed to be someone here to meet me and take me to the hotel.’

He consulted a clipboard and marked it off with a quill. ‘Ah, yes, Miss Weasley. That person will be me; my name is Gianni. On behalf of the International Association of Quidditch, benvenuti alla coppa del mondo. Now, if you’ll hand me your luggage, I will take you to the hotel.’

She followed him out of the door and was met with dazzling sunlight and much more humidity than she had anticipated.

‘It is not this warm in England, I suppose?’ Gianni asked, as he led her down the side street that the International Association of Quidditch offices were on.

‘No,’ Ginny confirmed, shielding her eyes from the sun. ‘It’s even rainy at this time of year.’

‘In July it is very sunny, very dry. Perfect weather for the events!’

They were walking briskly along a main road now, with the Muggles driving their cars more manically than Ginny had ever seen. If he saw this, even her dad would have to admit that motorcars were not very good ideas. Especially … whatever those one-man vehicles were.

Then, they turned onto a magnificent square. It was a square in the sense that it seemed to be a central point of activity, but rather than actually being in an orderly square-shape, the buildings stood in a sweeping semi-circle. There were cafés along one side and grand buildings that were curved to match the edges. There was a huge fountain in the centre, with statues of nymphs in amongst it. This was the first moment in which she was able to completely grasp the situation: she was in Italy. The weather was warm, the architecture was grand and this was _Rome_. How Hermione would love to be stood in her place at this moment. Her occupation as a sports journalist may have been many things, but dull it was not.

‘This is Piazza della Repubblica,’ said Gianni. ‘And that,’ – he pointed at one of the grander buildings on the square – ‘is La Vecchia Strega, your hotel.’

She followed him towards it, breathlessly. The place was so grand, all white stone, pillars and marble. It was obvious too, that the Muggles could see it. Once inside the vast, largely colourful marble foyer, Gianni handed her a Press pass along with an itinerary of Quidditch matches and IAQ hosted events. She was in quite a daze. The only place she had been to that was nearly as magnificent as this was Hogwarts, and after seven years, it had rather lost its impact.

She checked in, then took the lift up to her room, which did not overlook the Piazza, but had a lovely view all the same. After unpacking, she had a cup of tea and a cigarette and waited. Sure enough, there was soon a knock on the door. Opening it, she found her close friend and fashion correspondent Daphne Greengrass, and Ginny’s Head of Department, Gwenog Jones.

‘You’re so English,’ said Gwen in her Welsh lilt, before Ginny could say ‘hello’.

‘What do you mean?’

‘We’re in Italy, and you sit around drinking tea and smoking?’

‘Smoking’s sort of Italian,’ Ginny said before putting out the half-smoked cigarette in the nearest ashtray. She grabbed her handbag. ‘So where to?’

‘I think we all need a good cappuccino,’ said Daphne. ‘We have a long night ahead of us.’

They did not go far, but instead chose to sit outside a coffee shop across the Piazza. They basked in the sun, drinking coffee and watching the world go by; Ginny summed it all up when she remarked, ‘This doesn’t feel like work!’ Though, it was of course at this point that Gwen decided to pull her version of the itinerary out of her bag. It was covered in her own notes.

‘I suppose this is where you tell me I have three hundred matches to cover, many of them occurring at the same time?’

‘Basically? Yes.’

Daphne ordered another cappuccino and sat back in her chair, soaking up the sun. Ginny rolled her eyes.

‘At least I get to stay for the entire tournament, Daph,’ she said. Daphne shrugged.

‘But I’m going to be enjoying what _I’m_ doing.’

‘I like Quidditch,’ Ginny said, resisting the urge to add, ‘At least I used to like it.’

As she copied the appropriate parts on to her own itinerary, it became clear that Ginny was going to need an early night – no such luck of course, for it was the IAQ’s welcome ball that evening, which Ginny was told would be the perfect opportunity to interview players. She had long resigned herself to the fact that she would have to go everywhere armed with a Quill.

‘Anyway,’ said Gwen, ‘I’ve got an interview with Hassan Mostafa in half an hour, I’d best go and get ready. If you see John, tell him I want to give him his itinerary won’t you?’

‘Sure,’ said Ginny, secretly wondering how long she could leave it before she would absolutely have to pass on this information to poor John. Daphne left soon after, offering to take Ginny along on her trip to what seemed to be the Italian equivalent of Diagon Alley. She knew Daphne would prefer to do this alone and sent her on her way. Besides, it would be better for Ginny to soak up the sun in peace whilst she could. Maybe she would read, she thought. Yes, that seemed like a very civilised sort of thing to do. But she hadn’t brought along any books. Perhaps a letter home, then; everyone would want to be sure that she had arrived safely. Except, there wasn’t really anything to say, was there?

‘Dear Mum, Got here, landed on my arse. Had a fag, a coffee and a chat. Going to a ball later, but will be working, not dancing nor looking for suitable men to marry. Hope to drink lots of alcohol though. Hope you’re all well, love Ginny.’ She’d love that.

Instead, Ginny ordered another coffee, some kind of dessert (she didn’t know enough Italian for specifics) and sat back to watch the world go by. These were to be – as far as she could tell – the last moments of calm before one hell of a storm, after all.

Her coffee arrived. She let it cool to a somewhat drinkable temperature whilst she ate her dessert. When she was finished she lit another cigarette, inhaled, savouring the taste, then exhaled. It was at this point that she heard an oddly familiar voice conversing with the waiter.

‘I _did_ pay. I left it inside! On the table!’ He sighed. ‘Inside? Dentro?’

Ginny turned to look and, to her surprise, she was faced with Draco Malfoy, a man who – miraculously – she had not seen in eight years. She had heard about him, of course; their community was small enough that everyone talked about everybody else. He had been in the offices of the _Daily Prophet_ whilst she had been working there, even, though she hadn’t seen him (Daphne had told her about it later). She wondered what on earth he was doing in Rome. It couldn’t have been the Quidditch World Cup; that was no concern of the Malfoys, surely.

‘Yes! That’s it – so what’s the problem?’

She turned and inhaled as she surveyed him in his struggle with the owner of the café. As far as she could tell, he had paid, but the café owner’s problem was that it was in British pounds, not in Euros (at least he hadn’t thrown some galleons on the table, she supposed). They were arguing and gesturing wildly. Most of the people around them didn’t seem to particularly notice. Ginny laughed. As if on instinct, Malfoy spun towards her at the sound. Their eyes locked for a moment, and then his narrowed.

‘Weasley,’ he said, with a tone of something that sounded suspiciously like a plan. ‘Speak Italian?’

‘A little,’ she said, before taking a swig of coffee, attempting to appear nonchalant. ‘And yourself?’

‘What do you think? Get over here, would you?’

She got up, crossed the few tables between the two men and herself and folded her arms. She looked at Malfoy expectantly. The café owner proceeded to continue his rant.

‘What do you want me to do about this exactly? – Oh, don’t tell me, you spent all of your fortune down Knockturn Alley and now you need me to pay your bill?’ She took another drag of her cigarette.

‘Just explain to the man what’s going on.’

‘I don’t think he needs explaining to. You gave him British money.’

‘Merlin’s arse,’ he said matter of factly. ‘In that case …’

‘See, I knew you’d need me to pay it for you.’ She went back to the table, grabbed a couple of Euros out of her bag, and handed them to the café owner with a ‘Mi scusi per il mio amico,’ before returning to her seat.

‘Thanks, Weasley; I owe you one,’ said Malfoy, looking slightly uncomfortable.

‘Too right you do. I can’t believe you’ve yet to grasp Muggle money. I mean really.’ She kicked out the chair opposite her. ‘Sit down.’ He did so. She pushed out the pack of cigarettes. ‘Want one?’ He shook his head. ‘Sure?’

‘Okay, just one.’

He took the cigarette and seemed to discreetly light it with his wand. They sat in silence for a few moments, as Ginny finished off her coffee.

‘How are you affording this anyway?’ Malfoy asked.

‘What, coffee?’

‘No, Rome. You’re poor.’

Ginny laughed. Some things never changed. She knew that she didn’t have to tell Malfoy that her family was no longer ‘poor’, for it was not as though the media didn’t cover Ministry goings on. Though even an average income would seem poor to Malfoy, who, even with a somewhat tarnished family reputation, was allegedly richer than ever.

‘I’m covering the World Cup for the _Prophet_. It’s expenses paid. What about you?’

‘I’m here for the Quidditch too, actually.’

‘A fan are you?’

‘I _did_ play Seeker for Slytherin at Hogwarts, you know.’

‘How could I forget?’ He certainly hadn’t let any of the Gryffindor team forget it ahead of matches. ‘Wasn’t that mainly to piss off Harry though?’

‘It was my love for all forms of noble competition.’

‘I’ll take that as a yes.’

‘How is the great and splendid Scar Head, by the way?’ He was attempting to get to her. He must have known that she and Harry had not been an item for more than two years now. Sadly for Malfoy, that wound had already healed.

‘I don’t know,’ she said with a shrug. ‘I haven’t seen him in a while. I only know what the papers tell me.’

‘It’s so sad when the hero doesn’t get his happily ever after.’

‘Harry’s a hero now? You’ve changed your tune.’

‘You’re not making this easy you know, Weasley.’

‘Well, it has been eight years; I’ve had an array of arseholes to practice on in anticipation of this moment.’

They fell silent again. Eight years. Ginny had barely realised how long that figure really was until that moment. Had it been eight years since she lay awake, curiously wondering if he’d seen her sneaking around, since he let her know that Luna was okay? It seemed all at once like it had been yesterday and a million years ago.

‘So you work for the _Prophet_ now? That’s pretty good.’ He paused, then added, ‘For a Weasley, I mean.’

‘To be perfectly honest, I’m surprised I’m in Rome myself. It’s only really because one of the main reporters is on paternity leave and Gwen Jones sees me a bit like her protégé.’

Malfoy shrugged. ‘Sometimes it’s a case of it not being what you know but who you know.’

‘Yes, you _would_ know all about that.’

‘All I’m saying is, if someone influential like that sees you as their protégé, don’t apologise for it. Use it to your advantage. No one gets anywhere on raw talent.’

‘Something I guess you’re less familiar with.’

‘And how would you know?’

She rolled her eyes at him. ‘Well – what are you doing for a living lately, Malfoy?’ He did not reply. ‘Exactly.’

‘For all you know I’m spending my time using my extreme talent to write highly intellectual and subversive poetry.’

She laughed to disguise the fact that this comment had softened her somewhat; it was all actually very sad when she thought about it. ‘But you’re not.’

‘No, I’m not. But I could be. I do have some business type things I want to do whilst I’m over here.’ He shrugged. ‘It might not pan out.’

‘What kind of business?’

‘I’d rather not talk about it. You know, in case it doesn’t.’

‘Sure. I get it.’

‘I don’t care if you don’t.’

Ginny grinned. This man was insufferable. He looked basically the same as she remembered, but with eight years of improvement and wear. He wasn’t as painfully skinny as he had been during the war, but neither was he some kind of muscle man. His hair was shorter, but still very blond. His skin was pale – neither of them was going to do well in the heat of the Italian summer. His eyes were the same shade of grey that she remembered (sometimes a little too vividly) though they lacked the haunted look she had last seen and had instead regained a mischievous spark.

‘I’ve got to go and get sorted at the hotel.’ She got up, collecting her things together. ‘I’ll probably see you around.’

‘I daresay you will.’ He smiled and she turned to go.

‘It was, erm, nice seeing you Malfoy.’

‘You too, Little Red.’

‘Don’t call me that.’

He shrugged. ‘As you wish … Are you going or what?’

‘Yes. I am. Bye.’

She walked across the Piazza to the hotel, shaking her head as she went. What exactly had that been about?

*

Ginny checked her midnight blue dress robes in the mirror again, telling herself that she wasn’t nervous. She didn’t quite know why she was telling herself this, though, as somehow, it only served to make her even more nervous than she had been beforehand. It wasn’t that she was nervous about interviewing the players, or making small talk with advertisers as they all sipped their champagne and tried to avoid an embarrassing incident with their pasta; it was simply that she was suddenly very aware that this was her first time going to a ball since her split with Harry. She went out clubbing and pubbing and doing normal things quite frequently, but balls? No. This remained a very upper class affair. People would be looking at her not as a journalist, but as ‘that girl who used to sleep with the Boy Who Lived’. If she could go unnoticed in the ball then she would consider the night a success (even if Gwen fired her for not gathering any quotes, which wasn’t all that likely anyway).

She looked at the situation logically: of all the people there, the only ones she hadn’t encountered over the last couple of years were the likes of Malfoy and (she hated to think it) Daphne. Did she really care what the toffs thought? She never had. Besides, she had grown so much in the last two years that she barely recognised the girl who had been Harry Potter’s girlfriend, maybe no one else would either.

As it turned out, no one did recognise Ginny as Harry’s former flame, or if they did, she was not made aware of it, even in the atmosphere. It was a ball unlike any she had ever been to before – full of people from all over the world, mixing without regards for social class or blood status.

She sat with her sister-in-law, Angelina, and various members of the English Quidditch squad to eat dinner. The food was divine, but far surpassed by the anecdotes the team shared about their training process leading up to the tournament (‘Well, it tasted horrible, but I did see the Snitch loads faster!’) – she filed them all away for future reference, already knowing that she wouldn’t be able to write them down as well as they had been told to her, even if it was her job. Angelina then regaled them with tales of George’s exploits; Ginny was struck by how little she actually saw any of her brothers these days. The job had overcome her.

‘How is George?’ Ginny asked, in all seriousness, as laughter faded into chatter.

‘He’s fine,’ Angelina nodded, ‘but he asked me to keep an eye on you.’

‘I don’t think I need keeping an eye on,’ said Ginny, but she smiled.

‘I know – just tell him I did if he asks.’

Without notice, the band struck up a fairly fast paced tune. Ginny and Angelina sighed, knowing what was coming next. Everyone moved into the centre of the room, allowing for their tables to vanish. It was time to find a partner and dance. Over the next hour or so, Ginny found herself spinning around the room with the Italian Minister for International Cooperation, the Ugandan Keeper, Oliver Wood, and a reporter from the _New York Prophet_. She was certainly networking, as Gwen pointed out when Ginny stopped for a drink.

‘You can go anywhere, just by dancing with the right people.’

‘I couldn’t agree more,’ said – Ginny spun around in surprise at having him interrupt – Draco Malfoy. ‘She doesn’t think it’s a good idea to use connections to her advantage. Such a Weasley.’

‘Ah, Mr Malfoy, so lovely to see you again so soon – and you’re already giving out opinions on my career … What do you do for a living again?’

He turned his head away from her, apparently looking towards the band, which promptly began a waltz. ‘Tonight – I’m a dancer.’

Ginny looked at Gwen. ‘Did you just hear that?’ Gwen nodded with a smirk and nudged Ginny closer to Malfoy. She sighed. ‘I suppose you’re going to show me how the professionals do it, then, are you?’

‘Call it a thank you for earlier,’ he said, offering her his hand. She took it, her heart racing too loudly. She could have sworn that she was creating a drumbeat for the waltz on her own as they moved to the centre of the ballroom.

‘You still owe me, Malfoy,’ she said as Malfoy placed one hand on her waist.

‘Just let me know how to repay you, and I will.’ He took her remaining hand in his and they began to dance. ‘You’re pretty good at this.’

‘My repertoire is limited, but I’m good at what I can do.’

He smirked. ‘I bet.’

She chose to ignore the implications. ‘So, meeting you twice in one day. Coincidence.’

‘I suppose when we’re both staying in this hotel, and both invited to this particular ball, the chances of us meeting did rather go up.’

‘And the chances of us dancing?’

He spun her around with the swell of the music. ‘Well, they went up when I saw you standing alone wearing that dress.’

‘I was standing with Gwen.’

‘Semantics.’

‘Are you flirting with me, Malfoy?’

He rolled his eyes. She was suddenly very aware of how close they were, of the feeling of both of his hands on her, and that she hadn’t been concentrating on her steps at all for some time. Their eyes locked and he squeezed her hand very gently.

‘You’re not too quick to catch on are you?’

‘I just – Weasleys and Malfoys don’t flirt, remember?’ He spun her around again; the impact of their reconnection sent a jolt through her. The impact of this all too familiar feeling was troublesome, to say the least. The fact that the cause of it was Draco Malfoy – that it was Draco Malfoy _again_ – was even worse. Yet here she was, feeling like her insides were Apparating from one dance step to the next. ‘Why are you …’ She didn’t know quite how to end the question.

‘How about we just dance?’

‘It’s only okay to chat on your terms?’

‘We’re not chatting.’ She would have rolled her eyes, but his voice was more intense and had more of an effect on her than she had anticipated. ‘Let’s dance.’

‘We are dancing.’

And then the music stopped, and they weren’t. Ginny snatched her hands away under the guise of wanting to join in with the applause of the crowd. She took a sidelong glance at Malfoy, who glanced back at her, then, as the next song began he turned on his heel, leaving her alone amongst the other dancers.

Ginny swiftly moved to the bar, grabbing herself something strong, knocking it back, and then getting a not-so-strong drink. She surveyed the room for a moment, finding she could not identify anyone that she knew. She headed out onto the balcony, for some fresh air and what she hoped would be clear thoughts. The city sparkled at her. It was unlike London in almost every way – not better, just so completely different that it was almost another world. The sound of the traffic was muted here (by magic, she presumed) so it was easy to take in the landmarks that were lit up in the distance. Ginny sighed – it was all so much grander than she was. She wished she had her handbag with her; she could feel it was time for a cigarette. She was about to go and hunt it down, when she heard a familiar voice just inside the door.

‘Who’s that girl you were dancing with, Zabini?’

‘She’s on the French team I think. Got a French accent anyway.’

‘Nice. Pureblood?’ Ginny sighed. Whether it was Malfoy being prejudiced or her heart racing as he took her hand to dance, some things never changed.

‘She’s a Mudblood,’ said Zabini, who Ginny unfortunately remembered from school.

‘You going to fuck her and have done with it, I take it?’

‘That’s the plan.’

‘Always the best way, I find.’ The two men shared a laugh. It was at this point that Ginny decided to leave, for the conversation was making her feel almost ill.

She left the balcony in search of her bag. She could feel Malfoy’s eyes on her back and had trouble resisting the urge to ask him his policy on blood traitors. On her way, she bumped into Gwen, who informed her it was past midnight and they should all be leaving if they wanted to get the pre-match coverage in the morning. Ginny decided to ignore the fact that Gwen headed straight for the bar after having said this; instead she located her things and headed for the lift.

Only half a day in, Italy had been much more than she’d expected. Much of it had not even been on Gwen’s trusty itineraries. She would need her sleep if she was to take a whole month of it.

*

There were three matches on the opening day of the world cup. Gwen would cover Italy vs. Peru, John would cover France vs. Spain, and Ginny would have the pleasure of watching Luxembourg vs. Norway. She didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. It was the least anticipated of the three matches, mainly because Luxembourg was in such good form whilst Norway had never been anything to write home about. Unfortunately, she would _have_ to write home about it as it was her job. She hoped that it would last long enough to provide her with material to write an article. Whilst she appreciated being at the tournament at all, Luxembourg predictably trouncing Norway was not back page material.

As it turned out, Norway managed to hang on for seventy-three minutes before the Luxembourgish Seeker caught the Snitch. Ginny managed to get an interview with the Seeker after the match and later used it to pad out her article (which she wrote on the hotel’s roof terrace, only partly under the influence of alcohol).

It carried on much this way over the next ten days: Ginny writing articles that no one would bother to read past the headline and score, not getting time to think, let alone really see Italy beyond its Quidditch stadiums. The only people she saw were Gwen and the various reporters from around the world in the press boxes at matches. Her mother had started sending frantic letters, having not heard from her at all, but Ginny only managed to find the time to scribble her a note telling her to check the sports section of the _Prophet_ because that clearly showed she was alive and run off her feet.

This changed, though, when she was asked to cover the match between Wales and Uganda. It was the final match for their group and one that would determine which team would advance to the knockout stages. Wales were the clear underdogs in the match-up, but in Ginny’s professional opinion, they might make it with a quick catch. Gwen was desperately nervous about the whole thing; at the last second she declared that Ginny should cover the match because she couldn’t bear to watch. Some of the players had been on the team when she herself had been captain; it was too close for comfort. Ginny was thrilled. She would get her name, and her writing, on the back page for sure now – unless it was an embarrassing defeat for Wales and Gwen decided to bury it.

She made herself comfortable in the press box of the medium sized stadium which was just outside Naples, nestled in the hills around Vesuvius. She had her Quick Quote Quill set to ‘Record: No Bullshit’ (or at least that’s what she called it), and she had a box of Every Flavour Beans at her side. She watched the crowds filing in, even spotting a few people she knew. The last of those being Malfoy, who came into the press box ten minutes before the game was due to start.

‘Hello, Weasley,’ he said, coming up behind where she was sitting. The reporters around her were giving him sidelong glances: it was not only in Britain that the Malfoy family had a certain reputation.

‘And what are you doing here?’ Ginny asked, spinning her chair around to face him. He was holding a bottle of wine, which he held out to her.

‘I wanted to officially be out of your debt. I thought perhaps this would do that.’

‘You know I’m working, right?’

‘Well you don’t have to drink it now, do you?’ He put it down on the desk, next to the Every Flavour Beans. ‘Save it and drink it when you’ve got something to celebrate. Oh – and let me know what you think.’

‘Thanks, Malfoy.’ She smiled: considering the fact that they hadn’t seen one another since the start of the tournament, he could well have just avoided her and never paid her back. She wondered what had caused him to come over all noble on her.

‘Now we’re even.’

‘Yes. Don’t worry. You are no longer under the burden of being in debt to a Weasley.’

‘Excellent. Normality is restored.’ He winked, and she looked at him sceptically. ‘Maybe I shouldn’t wink?’

‘No, you shouldn’t.’

‘So enjoy the match.’

‘I will do my very best, considering.’

‘Come on – stop feeling sorry for yourself.’ He headed for the door. ‘Don’t forget to let me know what you think of the wine, okay?’

She nodded, wondering why her opinion on his wine choices mattered to him so much. He nodded at her, and swiftly ducked out of the room. She wondered if maybe he was here with Zabini; perhaps they had come looking for young Muggle-borns to bed. She shook off the thought for it wasn’t important now. It shouldn’t have been important to her anyway. She could see some people still glancing at her and resolved to ignore them. The match was a far more exciting prospect, she thought; she would do her best to enjoy it despite the chronic note taking.

‘Exciting’ did not come close to describing the match, in the end. As it happened, much of the time it was anything but. Both teams were putting up a fight, displaying resilience that Ginny had not known existed until that day. Eighteen hours later, she was still in her seat, trying her best to describe the match and keep track of the points. It was probably the long and tense nature of the match that led her to eat all of her Every Flavour Beans, smoke twenty cigarettes and drink the entire bottle of wine that Malfoy had given to her.

After Myfanwy Lloyd had caught the Snitch, securing a place in the knockout stages for Wales, Gwen discovered Ginny slumped on the desk, muttering at the Quick Quotes Quill.

‘Ginny. Ginny, time to get up.’

She snapped upright in her seat. ‘I’m working – I am – Wales won.’

‘I know, and now it’s time for you to go home.’

‘But I need to write the article,’ said Ginny; there was no way she was going to let all of her effort lead to nothing.

‘You can write the article back at the hotel. After some sleep.’

‘No, I can do it now: it’ll make the _Evening Prophet_.’

Gwen seemed to consider this. Ginny knew that they needed to get the story out before it became a day old and she was willing to start hallucinating to do that. Gwen nodded.

‘Okay – do it. But just a first draft. I’ll edit it for you before sending it back to London. I don’t want you to burn out completely.’

‘Don’t worry, I won’t. As long as unlimited amounts of coffee are covered in my expenses.’

‘They are.’

‘Then let’s do it.’ She stood up, immediately having to steady herself by grabbing on to Gwen’s shoulder.

‘You’re in no fit state to Apparate. We’d better get you a Portkey.’

Ginny let out a series of noises in protest, but knew it was pointless. The sooner she was back at the hotel, the better.

When she arrived, she immediately set up on the roof, ordering a pot of coffee and spreading her notes out on the table in front of her. She told herself she couldn’t possibly be all that tired, because she’d had the good sense to do a Charm in order to prevent the papers flying away in the wind. It was ten in the morning, so there wasn’t many people up on the roof with her; she assumed all those who had been to the match had gone to bed, tired from one of the longer matches seen in a while. In three hours and just as many pots of coffee, Ginny was finished. She took her first draft (which was technically a second draft) to Gwen, returned to her room, took off her clothes and fell into bed. She slept for sixteen hours without stirring.

*

The following morning, Ginny met Daphne, Gwen and John for breakfast. She helped herself to large portions, having not eaten properly in what felt like forever. The three Quidditch reporters were relaxed and relieved: they had another two days before the knockout stage of the competition was due to start. Daphne, meanwhile, was sulking. She had to return to London later that day and had not found the time to go to all of the shops that she had wanted to. Ginny suggested she come back for the final.

‘As if I’m getting time off for that,’ said Daphne, folding her arms and swishing her blonde hair. ‘As if I’d _want_ time off for that!’

Ginny laughed. ‘Fine then. I’ll enjoy the closing ball without you.’

‘Without my shoes you mean.’

‘That too.’

As Ginny sipped her coffee she noticed Malfoy approaching their table. He greeted Daphne with a kiss on each cheek and waved a hand at Ginny. He knelt down next to Daphne’s chair. The two spoke in low voices. Ginny drummed a hand on the table and exchanged a glance with Gwen. After a few minutes Malfoy stood up and made to leave, before turning back as if he had just remembered something.

‘Did you like the wine?’

‘Yeah, it was … well, I drank the whole bottle so it must have been pretty good.’

‘Okay. Well, places to be, so …’ He seemed to drift out of the room, apparently lost in his thoughts about the places that he had to be.

‘What was that about?’ said Gwen, looking pointedly at Daphne.

‘He wants me to have lunch with his mum at the weekend, she’s lonely.’ Daphne shrugged.

‘Oh my god, Daph, that’s such a blatant lie,’ Ginny said. Daphne shrugged. ‘You’ve been whining about having to have lunch with Narcissa Malfoy for at least a fortnight.’

‘That was a different time.’

‘No, it wasn’t,’ said Ginny. ‘Come on, ‘fess up!’

She looked at Ginny and bit her lip. ‘He asked me to do a favour – bury some news.’

Gwen leaned forward, more interested than ever. ‘Well if he wants you to do that, then it _must_ be worth printing.’

‘Erm, no, it’s not much of anything, really. May as well not print it and print something more worthwhile.’

‘Would you get to the point?’ asked John from behind his newspaper, which he was apparently only half reading.

‘He was contacted by one of the girls on the gossip column – they wanted him to comment on something that someone had sent to them, you know, a “spotted” type thing.’

‘What was he doing?’ Ginny asked, delicious scandals flying through her mind.

‘Giving you a bottle of wine.’

Ginny raised her eyebrows and nodded. ‘Yeah, that was at the match. How is it news, though? Why does he need to comment on that?’

‘I guess … your various connections and past relationships …’ she trailed off, looking as though she was bracing for impact.

‘Are you kidding me?’ Ginny asked. ‘I’m over all that – why isn’t anyone else? Are Harry and I both going to have to marry other people before the speculation and gossip goes away? It has been two years, guys.’

‘I know, Gin, but people like to read that stuff.’

‘He gave me the wine to pay me back for paying his bill at a café the other day when he had no Euros. That’s it. But you know what? Fuck them. Let them print it. Let them think what they want.’ She got up, grabbed a croissant, and threw her handbag onto her shoulder. ‘I’m going out to see some culture, or whatever. Seriously Daph, don’t go to any trouble for my sake. Because I don’t care.’

She stormed off without waiting for a response, painfully aware that her reaction had made it clear that she _did_ care.

*

She had found great difficulty in trying to use the buses in Rome, not only because she was not used to travelling that way, but also because she was not used to being so crammed in that she missed her stop more than once. Eventually she gave up and got off at a random stop. Of course, it turned out that this would be the precise moment that a large number of Muggle tourists would choose to disembark, leaving the bus fairly empty. Ginny sighed, took out her bottle of water, wondering what was nearby that could cause so many people to make a dash for it.

She turned around, and all became clear. There before her was the most beautiful thing Ginny had ever seen. The remains of the Colosseum, one of the things she had most wanted to see when in Rome, and she seemed to have just stumbled onto it. She stood for a moment, admiring the way the round structure stood imposingly in the middle of this modern city, as a reminder of everything that once had been and the things the city’s people had to live up to. The pieces of its side that were missing struck a chord of sadness, for she knew that it had not been time but _people_ who had caused it, who had plundered the grand archways for their spectacular statues. She closed her eyes for a moment, and in her head the people flocking around it were not wearing shorts and t-shirts; she herself wore not a shred of denim, but rather a white stola and palla. The sun beat down on a hot July day as she headed to the marble-covered Colosseum for the day’s events, her wand held proudly in her hand, visible for all to see, wizard and Muggle alike. And then she opened her eyes to find that her cropped jeans felt hot on her skin, that her wand was safely in her bag, and this giant of a structure was only half as magnificent as it once had been.

Ginny sighed and headed over to the entrance, pulling her _Wizard’s Guide to Rome_ from her bag as she went. When she had paid and entered, she overtook a crowd of excited tourists and headed off into the ruin to see what she could see. Starting at the top, or as high as a person could get these days. The second tier allowed Ginny to see deep into the centre, where the Gladiators and their opponents had once roamed beneath the arena floor. A passing tour group had where the Emperor’s box would have been pointed out to them, making Ginny’s heart race with the sheer history of it all. She moved to the nearest archway letting the cool breeze blow her crimson hair back behind her. She could see the Forum Romanum from there, the centre of the city’s ancient culture, now reduced to random pillars and rubble. Something about it just pulled on her heart, a desire to go back to see it all for real, for what it had been at its best. But there was no magic that could do that without dire consequences, and so she was forced to settle for this moment, this wind, this point in time.

With these thoughts in mind, she sadly drew back and turned to head down to the next level, to experience all of the building. She looked down at her guide for some, well, guidance, and in doing so collided with a person apparently doing the same thing – judging by the smack of the two books falling onto the stone floor. She picked them up, discovered that both books were the _Wizard’s Guide to Rome_ ; as she met the person’s eyes she realised it wasn’t only his book that she recognised.

‘Malfoy, really, must you follow me everywhere?’ she asked without missing a beat, though she suspected her eyes betrayed her in how surprised she was.

‘Modest, aren’t you?’ he asked with an arched eyebrow. ‘I wouldn’t do anything of the sort. I’m here for the culture.’ He moved to the archway where she had stood a moment previously and peered out. ‘It’s odd, isn’t it?’ he asked, turning to face her, leaning against the ancient stone.

‘What is?’ She moved to join him at the arch and, looking out, smiled at the children chasing one another on the grass below.

‘This whole thing.’ He gestured around them. ‘It feels odd – off – to be standing in it. Like we shouldn’t be here.’

‘What, you mean because we’re British? Or because we’re, you know …’ She made a subtle wand motion with her hand, and he shook his head.

‘It just doesn’t feel like it was meant for us.’

‘Really? I don’t feel that way at all.’ She rested a hand on the stone with a sigh. ‘I feel oddly connected to it.’

They began to walk together, moving slowly around the tier of the seating, and then down on to the one below. When they were on the lowest level they moved as close as they could to the centre of the arena, looking down on the tunnels and corridors. At the other end there were some men building a wooden floor, presumably to make the area into a stage.

‘I think I’ve figured it out,’ said Ginny, breaking the silence as she turned to look at Malfoy.

‘Figured what out, exactly?’ he asked apprehensively, squinting due to the brightness of the sun where they stood.

‘Why I feel so connected to this place, and you feel like you shouldn’t be here.’

He smirked. ‘Do tell, Weasley.’

‘Seriously – humour me here.’ She nudged him in the side, playfully. ‘This place, it’s a relic of a time where there was no real Us and Them. It was just people; some people could to magic, and some couldn’t. That’s it. And that’s something that speaks to me as a time we should hope to see again. To me, it’s hope, it’s beauty and it’s what all of us should be doing.’

‘Whereas to me …’

‘To you the ideal has always been wizards – pureblood wizards – on top, Muggles somewhere else, if at all. That’s what unsettles you about this place. The idea that to go back in time to its heyday might mean you weren’t automatically top of the tree. You hate the idea of working for anything, Malfoy.’

They stood, looking at one another, considering this for a moment. ‘If your theory is true – and I’m not saying it is or it isn’t – but if it’s true, then why am I even here?’

She shrugged. ‘Bored?’

‘Okay, off the record?’ She nodded. ‘I _do_ think it’s something to strive for. And maybe what unsettles me is the fact that two thousand years later, we’re so much more behind than these people were.’ He looked out into the centre of the arena. ‘They may have enslaved one another and had brutality and all of that – but I can’t help but feel that they knew what they were doing better than we do.’ Turning back to her, he motioned a head back to the outer edge of the arena. ‘Come on, plenty more to see.’ Apparently that particular conversation was over.

Soon enough, they were outside the Colosseum itself, into the shade of its outer tier. Ginny walked along the outside a little way and sat down on the floor, her back against the cool stone. Malfoy followed her, sitting a couple of inches to her left. Further along there was a queue to get into the building that stretched out into the sun, and opposite them were Muggles dressed as Roman Centurions, shouting things in Italian Ginny could not understand. She got out her bottle of water, sipped from it, then offered it to Malfoy, who took it gratefully.

‘Do you ever think about that year?’ she asked, carefully studying the Muggles in costume rather than looking at him.

‘Of course I think about it. It was, well, so many things happened. I’m still having trouble processing it, to be honest.’

‘I don’t mean in general. I mean … do you ever think about me?’ She turned her head to look at him now, but he did not look back at her in turn, instead looking intently at the water bottle in his hands.

‘I do. Occasionally. It’s not – I haven’t been hung up on you for the last eight years if that’s what you mean.’

Ginny’s heart was racing. Why had she even begun this conversation? It was not one she thought she would ever have.

‘That’s not what I mean. I just wondered. I still think about you sometimes. How things turned out. How _weird_ everything was – is.’

‘Well you made your choice, and I had to accept that, didn’t I? There’s no “what if” for me to think about because I didn’t have a say.’

‘It was one kiss, Malfoy, and Harry and I were so …’

‘It’s a little late for explanations, don’t you think?’ He turned his head to look at her now. She couldn’t seem to tear her eyes from his.

‘Yes. You’re right; it is.’ She sighed. ‘I suppose I just miss those days, in a way. The danger, excitement – finding out you were someone I could connect with rather than just the guy that bullied my boyfriend and my brother all those years.’

‘To be fair I did bully you a bit too.’

‘Oh yeah, to give you credit, you did.’ She grinned. He handed the water bottle back to her and she slipped it in to her bag.

‘You’ve grown up, Weasley. Quite well, too.’

‘Thanks. So have you – I think. You’re rather inscrutable.’ She meant it, and the fact that he smiled in response to this statement made her stomach flip over yet again.

‘I do try,’ he said quietly. ‘For example, I can bet you’ve absolutely no idea what I’m thinking right now.’ The way his eyes lingered over her lips as he said it gave Ginny an uncomfortably likely idea of his thoughts; she was very aware of just how close together they were sitting.

‘I think I have some idea,’ she said.

‘You do?’

‘Yes, and I can prove it too.’

He looked sceptical. Ginny looked him hard in the eyes and decided that she was definitely right. There was only one thing to do: surrender. She leaned in towards him, pausing at the last possible second before their lips would touch to notice his eyes fluttering closed. And then they were kissing; their lips caressing each other slowly, reclaiming a memory almost lost. Malfoy shifted, and then he had a hand on her neck, and one on her waist. Ginny grabbed at his shirt and held on to it tightly; she did not want the moment to pass: the feeling of his tongue on hers was too good.

But the moment did pass, of course, and Ginny found herself looking at Malfoy and gasping, her hands still holding his chest. He looked as shocked as she felt. She pulled her hands back, clearing her throat. The easy banter they had enjoyed previous to this moment had completely evaporated, leaving Ginny with a racing heart, rosy cheeks and worst of all: awkward silence.

They stared at one another and then: ‘I’m sorry,’ said Malfoy, before she had chance to. ‘I don’t – that was – just…’

‘Yeah. Caught up in the moment.’

‘Needed to happen really.’

‘It’s good we got it out of the way.’

‘Exactly.’ He nodded, pensively. ‘I was going to take a look at the, erm, the Forum. You’re free to come along.’

‘Yeah, I mean, sure, I was going to, too, so…’

They got to their feet and brushed off their trousers before heading off in the direction of the Forum. It was easy to concentrate on the ruins, to read from the guidebook and marvel about how incredibly historical it all was. They spent the remaining hours of the afternoon discovering the treasures of the city as if nothing had happened. Almost.


	2. Part Two

** Part Two **

 

Ginny ate a quiet dinner with Gwen and John on the roof terrace. She was not in the mood for much talking and it seemed that neither were they. She looked out across the city and felt, well, just as disconcerted as she would have in any other city. It had to be due to all the stress of covering her first major tournament that was making her feel so conflicted and antsy and regretful and excited. Definitely the excitement of the Quidditch World Cup. Not Malfoy – or anyone really. It wasn’t as though the cause of these emotions could be traced back to once specific source. There hadn’t been a single failure to grasp currency, a dancer, a hand on her hip, a squint in the sunlight or a single set of lips brushing against hers that made her feel this way. It was all Quidditch, and work, and the magic of Rome. It was not Malfoy. Except for of course that it was, and she was having an increasingly hard time denying it to herself, never mind anyone else. Luckily, since Daphne had gone home, there wasn’t really anyone else to notice. 

 

She hated feeling so out of sorts; especially having felt like the world was at her feet on her arrival in Rome. Since seeing Malfoy again everything had seemed to shift in focus. The past, only very recently put behind her, had been dredged up again, except now it looked very different. It – or rather he – made Ginny look at things differently. Suddenly, she didn’t feel as if she was flying quite so high, yet at the same time everything around her seemed to hold promise.

 

After dinner, Gwen went off to hunt down an interview (apparently she just couldn’t stop working), whilst John retreated to his room to get in touch with his family. Ginny remained on the roof, smoking, drinking, and drumming her fingers distractedly on the table.

 

‘You know, some people might find that sound annoying,’ said Malfoy. Ginny turned from the view to see him standing by her table looking amused.

 

‘Where did you come from?’ she asked before taking another drag.

 

‘All sorts of horrible places,’ he replied, and sat down opposite her.

 

‘Please, Malfoy, do have a seat.’

 

‘You looked like you were in your own world a minute ago. What brought that on?’ The look in his eyes told her that he knew exactly what might have made Ginny so thoughtful. It infuriated her because the fact that he was mentioning it at all, after having apologised profusely for their all too extensive kiss, confused her more than ever.

 

‘I was trying to remember the opening lines of “Babbitty Rabbitty and the Cackling Stump”. Couldn’t quite place them.’

 

‘The runes or the translation?’

 

‘The, erm, runes,’ Ginny said, hoping this would shut him the hell up.

 

‘Oh, well, I can definitely help you with that. My copy is just downstairs.’

 

‘It is not.’

 

‘Of course it is: would I lie to you?’ Her face must have betrayed her thoughts at this point, judging by his response: ‘Okay, fair point. So I don’t have a copy of Bubbity Wubbity.’

 

‘What are you doing this evening?’ asked Ginny, and she threw back the remainder of her glass of wine.

 

‘At the moment, I’m talking to a beautiful girl – what? I am!’ he exclaimed at her scornful look, ‘– after that, well I thought I’d see where the night takes me.’

 

‘I was going to ask you if you wanted to talk a walk through the forum, you know, see it by night. But if you’re going to just continually mess with me then maybe I’ll be better off alone.’

 

‘As much as I like the idea of messing with you, Weasley, I’ll behave. A walk would be nice. Much better than sitting alone in my room counting the hours until the next match, and things.’

 

‘And things?’

 

‘I told you I was here on business too.’

 

‘Right.’ She nodded, mock sincere. ‘I almost forgot about that, what with the total lack of actual work going on.’

 

‘I don’t see you writing every single article that you write, but apparently you do write them else you wouldn’t be sitting here. So – you’ll see, when I’m ready to reveal it, you’ll see.’

 

‘Oh, you are a tease, Malfoy. I hope you know that.’

 

‘I revel in it.’ He grinned. ‘Shall we go?’

 

‘Let’s.’

 

The forum was a very different place at night to how it had appeared during the day. It was crowded during the day, filled with tourists, whilst at night it was quieter, though people still roamed between the ruins. The stone was bathed in orange and blue lights. It all felt so staged and yet strangely enticing to Ginny that she was immediately glad she had decided to take a walk there that night, though not so glad that Malfoy was her companion. Her feelings on that changed swiftly enough, though. He seemed just as pensive as she was as they meandered through the ruins.

 

‘I like this one even better now,’ he said, as they passed under the Arch of Septimus Severus.

 

‘Me too – I think. It’s sort of eerie: foreboding, almost.’ She turned around, as if to check if someone was watching her.

 

‘I think you have a case of paranoia, Weasley,’ said Malfoy, with a smirk.

 

‘I suspect you’re right.’

 

They settled themselves on a stretch of grass that bridged the gap between the Forum and Palantine Hill. Ginny could see the Colosseum in the mid-distance; her stomach lurched slightly at the memories it evoked. The traffic was fairly loud and yet somehow distant. She felt trapped between the two worlds that were around her, and then the added magical world within the two of those.

 

After sitting in silence, gazing out at their surroundings for a while, Malfoy turned to her, seemed as though he was about to say something, then promptly turned away again.

 

‘What?’ she asked.

 

‘Nothing.’

 

‘Okay.’

 

She waited, and soon enough he turned back to her again. He was tugging pieces of grass with his right hand.

 

‘Did you tell Potter about us?’

 

‘I did,’ she said, with a nod. ‘But not until about a year ago. Long after we broke up – I thought we were back to being friends and, well, at that point I was very wrong.’

 

Malfoy laughed, and Ginny couldn’t help but smile at him. It was a stupid victory, but she supposed a necessary one.

 

‘How much did you tell him?’

 

‘Just that we kissed. I couldn’t really get much further than that.’

 

‘Too painful was it?’

 

She rolled her eyes and dismissed him with a hand. ‘No – it’s just Harry went all weird and then left.’ She sighed. ‘I don’t know, it was all very messed up.’

 

‘But you made the right choice? You still think so, even now? You wouldn’t go back to see what would have happened if you had thrown caution to the wind and done it all differently?’

 

‘Yes, I did, and no I wouldn’t. It was the right choice for that time and place. I had been doolally over Harry since, well, always; if I hadn’t pursued it, given it a chance and watched it fall apart then I would be a different person.’ She paused, aware of the fire she was marching straight into, but unable to stop herself. ‘I most certainly wouldn’t be sitting here, with you. Would I?’

 

‘No, I don’t suppose that you would.’ He shifted slightly so that he was sitting closer to her, and grasped her left hand in his right one. The motion seemed to come to him as natural as breathing, but Ginny felt flushed all of a sudden; her heart began to race in that familiar way it did whenever he touched her. ‘You know, I didn’t realise it until the last week, but I’ve really missed our stupid talks, Weasley.’

 

‘Same here. Although lately they’ve been a lot more serious than they used to be.’

 

‘We have to work on that.’ His voice was throaty, almost like he couldn’t quite get the words out. His thumb was brushing lightly along the back of her hand. They sat for a while, like this, until Ginny became more comfortable under the feeling of his touch.

 

‘Let’s start, shall we?’ She smiled, but he didn’t. Instead he brought a hand to her cheek. She felt frozen to the spot. The comfort she had felt only a second before vanished into fear and awkwardness again.

 

‘Remember earlier, when we apologised for kissing one another?’ Ginny merely gulped in response. ‘Well, I’m not sorry about it at all, actually. And I don’t think you are either. So I’m going to do it again now.’

 

Ginny shivered as they made contact once more. Their third kiss: had she been able to process this, it would have astounded her. This time began slow, searching, much like the kiss they had shared at the Colosseum. But then, just as Ginny’s heartbeat began to steady, it became something more. She did not resist: she needed more. She needed to let loose the tension between them, set it free and hope that it went away. She grasped at Malfoy, pulling him down on top of her. It was a painful mess of limbs and bones and dirt, but Ginny didn’t care at this point. It seemed that Malfoy didn’t either, until she made a grab to undo his trousers.

 

‘Holy shit, we can’t do this here,’ he said, looking around. Sure enough, they could see people moving about the ruins – it was pretty obvious that they’d be seen in return. He got to his feet, held out a hand, which she gratefully took and they retreated over a small fence, then behind a hefty piece of white stone. Ginny grabbed her wand, muttered ‘Muffliato’, which was the best she could do under the circumstances, and went back to the business of kissing Malfoy. He leaned her back against the stone as he slipped a hand under her skirt, beneath her knickers. She gasped and threw her head back, bashing it on the stone and causing them both to laugh slightly. She reached for him in return, doing away with his trousers and underwear as quickly and skilfully as she could. Once her hand was on him, their eyes locked; Ginny felt like she might keel over if she didn’t have him that second. She tried to communicate this to him, but it only came out as a slight whimper and her hand pulling desperately at his shirt.

 

‘Now?’ he asked. She nodded. He pulled his hand from under her skirt, taking her knickers with him, which she hurriedly stepped out of. He rolled the skirt up around her hips, and she shivered as he grabbed her thighs, both from the sensation of his touch and the night air on her skin.

 

He lifted her, then. She did her best to support her weight as he positioned himself and then finally entered her. She sighed, in pleasure and relief, giving herself over to the friction of their bodies and the stone on her back. They soon found a rhythm of sorts, though there was an awkwardness to it that marked it clearly as their first time together.

 

‘Malfoy,’ Ginny gasped, ‘this isn’t working.’

 

‘What do you mean?’ He looked concerned, and yet he didn’t stop moving.

 

‘I can barely balance. We need to move.’

 

‘We are moving.’

 

‘Not like that.’

 

‘Like this?’

 

‘As nice as that is, no. Floor please. Now.’

 

He sighed, resigned, and pulled away. Ginny stepped away from the ruins to take a deep breath. If there was any going back, now was the moment for it. It was barely a decision though, as she soon found herself in Malfoy’s lap, sinking down onto him, her knees in the grass, her hands on his shoulders, his on her waist, eye to eye.

 

‘This is mental Weasley,’ said Malfoy, clutching her tighter. ‘Fucking insane.’

 

She didn’t reply; it wasn’t necessary, she simply closed her eyes, tried to forget that they could be discovered at any moment and enjoyed this feeling that could have been hers so long ago, but which she had neglected to claim until now. It was a good thing she hadn’t claimed it earlier, too, for she was sure that the feeling wouldn’t be nearly as mind-blowing back then as it was now.

 

She leaned in and kissed him, hard. She needed to be closer, always closer. Her hand was on his neck, hot and sticky; it made her yearn for the feeling of his naked chest against hers. Here she was, lost in a kiss with this man, releasing this tension that had been between them almost as long as she could remember, and still…

 

‘Not enough,’ she said, puling away, barely able to breathe. ‘It’s not enough.’

 

He kissed her softly on the lips, almost innocently, and as he did so he moved a hand between them, touching her in the one spot she needed it most now. She bit down lightly on his lip, then pulled back, clutching at him as she saw stars. Gasping, squeezing, he followed her into oblivion.

 

Ginny fell forward, her head resting above Malfoy’s shoulder in the nape of his neck. His hands moved up her waist to rest on her back, holding her lightly, but nevertheless close. They did not move for a minute or two, but sat there, recovering.

 

‘Weasley, would it be forward of me to ask you back to my hotel room?’ Malfoy asked, and Ginny began to laugh.

 

‘Way too forward. What sort of high-class gentleman are you?’ She leaned back again so that she could kiss him lightly on the lips. ‘We need showers.’

 

‘No, we need _a_ shower.’

 

When fully recovered they Apparated into a side street off the Piazza della Repubblicca, for it was as close as they could get to the building without being seen. They briskly walked across the Piazza, suppressing laughter; Ginny hoped no one would notice the grass stains on her knees.

 

As they went up in the lift, Ginny stood on her tiptoes to kiss Malfoy slowly. When it stopped at their floor, they jumped and broke apart. The doors opened and revealed no one, so they laughed and fell into another kiss.

 

‘I feel like I’m at school or something,’ Ginny said, ‘with all this sneaking around.’

 

Malfoy took her hand and led her down the corridor. ‘I don’t remember sneaking around being this fun at school,’ he said, opening the door to his unsurprisingly fancy suite. ‘Now, let’s get you in the shower; you’ve been far too clothed so far this evening.’

 

 

*

 

 

Ginny awoke to find her face pressed into a white satin pillow and groaned. So it hadn’t been a dream, then. She rolled over onto her side to see that she was in the bed alone, and that the curtains were already open, the light streaming in through the open balcony doors. She got up, grabbed her wand from where it was lying on the floor and headed into the bathroom, as quietly as she could. There was no one inside, so she locked the door and stepped into the shower. She felt flushed as memories of that shower from the night before ran through her mind: cold tiles on her back, warm moist skin on hers, falling out of there and onto the floor and coming hard.

 

Had that really been her? It didn’t feel like it this morning. Worst of all, she could not find an excuse for her actions; it wasn’t as though she’d had more than one glass of wine or had been extremely emotional about something unrelated and therefore couldn’t be held responsible for her actions. All there had been was connection and desire.

 

Once washed and dried, Ginny threw on one of the white hotel bathrobes and brushed her damp hair. It would develop into waves if she let it dry in the sun, but she didn’t have her straightening serum, or anything to curl it under with. Waves would suffice for now. She headed out onto the balcony, her stomach churning.

 

Malfoy sat at the table on the balcony, drinking coffee as he read his newspaper. The table itself was covered in an array of breakfast foods. Ginny felt self-conscious wearing a bathrobe in full view of the Piazza, even as high up as they were.

 

‘You’re up,’ said Malfoy. ‘You sleep like a baby.’

 

Ginny sat down, nervously. ‘Where did you get the food from?’

 

‘Room service; which by the way was a pain. The guy recognised you and so I had to pay him.’ He poured her a cup of coffee, which she took, though it was black and strong.

 

‘Jesus,’ she said, rubbing her forehead. ‘My mum would kill me.’

 

‘Are you hung over?’ he asked, cautiously.

 

‘No – no, I only had one glass of wine. I’m just tired. Maybe a bit confused.’

 

He seemed reassured by this. ‘Well, let’s just eat and sit in the sun.’

 

They did so, for a while, and it only made Ginny all the more nervous. On the one hand, this may have been what was simply polite in the kind of society that Malfoy was used to. Perhaps she’d be shuffled out and they wouldn’t speak again. On the other, it was oddly domestic, strangely comfortable; he seemed completely at ease.

 

‘This is weird,’ said Ginny, picking at a pastry.

 

‘How so?’ He put the paper down, as if ready for a conversation at last.

 

‘Malfoy – have you looked around? We’re sat on a balcony in Italy eating breakfast _together_.’

 

‘Yes. That is a bit unusual.’ He looked out on the Piazza, and then back at her. ‘I didn’t know you’d be here; I didn’t plan any of this. I didn’t know.’

 

‘So you’re not going to chuck me out, then?’ Ginny asked, staring at the pastry that she was tearing apart.

 

‘What, for sleeping with me?’ He seemed to find this amusing, and she looked up cautiously. ‘No. I’m not. I wanted you to help me with something, actually.’

 

‘Oh. And what’s that? Because if it’s a…’

 

‘No, I think you helped me with that enough. And I, you.’

 

‘That you did.’ She raised her cup of coffee to him, in mock toast. The lively banter made it easier to deal with; she supposed it was less of a transition that way. That’s how it had been the last time, though they hadn’t got this far.

 

‘I’m going to Lazio, into the country. For business. Will you come with me?’

 

She considered it for a moment. She hadn’t really seen the Italian country as of yet, save for that around the Quidditch stadiums. Plus, she _was_ very intrigued to find out what this supposed business of Malfoy’s was. ‘Okay. I’ll come.’

 

 

*

 

 

Malfoy Apparated to their destination, taking Ginny with him. Because she could not know their target Apparition on her own would be risky. It would have been enough for Ginny to hold on to his arm to get there, so the fact that he wrapped his arms around her was somewhat surprising as well as comforting. It was the first real contact they’d had that morning, the first acknowledgement of what had gone before that had some emotion to it, rather than sly remarks made in an attempt to distance themselves from one another. When they arrived, Ginny’s head was spinning; the combination of the feeling of Apparition, the Italian summer and Malfoy’s touch was dizzying.

 

She opened her eyes. They were on a hill, surrounded by fields, trees and other hills. There were no signs of life aside from a large villa and some outbuildings in the middle of the nearest valley.

 

‘Know what that is, Weasley?’ He pointed at the villa and surrounding area.

 

‘At a guess, I’d say it was a vineyard,’ she said, noticing that the fields were not merely grass, but straight rows of grapevines going on for miles.

 

‘Correct. That’s where we’re headed.’ He pulled her by the hand so that they could begin descending the hill.

 

‘Aha,’ she said, beginning to connect the dots in her head. He glanced back at her, giving her a questioning look. ‘That wine you gave me – it’s from here?’

 

‘Yes.’

 

‘And the business, it’s something to do with wine, right?’

 

‘Yes.’

 

‘Are you going to explain anymore than that?’

 

‘Okay, I suppose it’ll all become clear very soon anyway.’ They were at the bottom of the hill now, and joined a dirt road that would take them towards the villa. ‘I’m thinking of buying the vineyard; I’ll hire a few people to help me run it, and use magic – they’re Muggles at the moment – and then I’ll market it back in Britain.’ 

 

‘So you’ll be living in Italy?’ She didn’t know why her heart sunk at the thought; or rather she did, and the fact scared her so she chose to think otherwise.

 

‘Probably. At least some of the time; I haven’t decided yet.’ He shrugged. ‘Merlin, Weasley, I need to by the place first!’

 

‘So what’s the purpose of today’s little excursion then?’

 

‘I’m just checking the place out with a woman for a female perspective, and plus I need to discuss some things with the current owners. How much Italian do you know exactly?’

 

‘Not anywhere near enough to talk about vineyards. I don’t even know the _word_ for vineyard.’ Ginny was a little panicked, perhaps this was the real reason she was here, but she didn’t speak much more Italian than Malfoy.

 

‘Well then it’s a good job I hired a translator to meet us here then, isn’t it?’ He looked at her as if he knew her discomfort and revelled in it. She didn’t quite know what to make of this. His hand on hers was beginning to feel more and more unfamiliar as the enormity of their changed dynamics became clearer. It was so alien, both in idea and in practice that the more she tried to get used to it the more she couldn’t seem to be able to process it. After walking like this for a while, feeling very uncomfortable, she snatched her hand away. Malfoy stopped walking for a fraction of a second, and looked at her. When it became clear she wasn’t about to say anything, they continued forwards, both staring straight ahead.

 

Ginny couldn’t stand the silence any more than she could stand his hand on hers.

 

‘I’m sorry – I’m just very confused. It’s _weird_ to be walking along holding your hand, Malfoy. Don’t you think that it’s weird?’

 

‘It’s – yes, it’s weird. But I,’ he cleared his throat, ‘I thought I’d sort of put myself out there yesterday and this morning …’ There was a long pause; Ginny wasn’t sure whether to fill it, and exactly what was the appropriate thing to fill it with. ‘You’re being very fickle about this, Weasley. Very fickle.’

 

‘I know.’ She nodded. They were getting near to the villa now, and she was glad; maybe the conversation would be dropped.

 

‘I mean, last night you wouldn’t stop kissing me. And in the bathroom … I just wouldn’t have thought that you’d be having a problem with this.’

 

‘It’s just this – this whole thing that has appeared out of nowhere between us – it’s not normal. I can’t wrap my ahead around it. I don’t know what it means.’

 

‘Can’t you just try to enjoy it?’

 

She shrugged. ‘I like to understand what it is I’m throwing myself into before I do.’

 

‘Oh – like last night?’

 

‘That was different.’

 

‘Because it was sex?’

 

‘It wasn’t just sex,’ she said, quieter than she had intended.

 

‘Then what was it?’

 

Here, she chose to end the conversation and simply stared out ahead, as they walked up the last stretch of road to the villa. She heard Malfoy sigh with exasperation, and took a sort of pleasure in it; at least he’d be as messed up as she was.

 

The villa itself was gorgeous, the epitome of what Ginny imagined when she thought of the Italian countryside, both inside and out. She could definitely see why Malfoy would want to live here. With his money, he could spend the rest of his days loafing in the sun and drinking all the wine his workers produced. It would hardly be a bad life, albeit an unexciting one.

 

An elderly woman had greeted them at the door; she’d seemed happy to see Malfoy and ushered them inside. She called Ginny ‘Signora Malfoy’, making her mumble embarrassedly and Malfoy smirk in apparent enjoyment at this.

 

In the kitchen, which reminded Ginny very much of her mother’s, they found an elderly gentleman – who uncorked a bottle of wine, shook Malfoy’s hand before calling Ginny ‘bella ragazza’. She imagined her face was as red as her hair by this point. They drank the wine, which Ginny now recalled had been very good. Soon after, the translator turned up. The gentleman who had poured the wine (whose name was apparently Signor Moretti) asked Ginny if she would like to take a walk through their garden with him whilst this was going on. She agreed, although she wondered quite how they would communicate once they left the translator behind.

 

They wandered around the garden in silence mostly, but Ginny was glad of the company of Signor Moretti simply so that she wasn’t completely alone in her thoughts. He pointed out flowers, gestured that she should smell them, asked if she liked them, but never tried to explain. They could communicate basic ideas and emotions to one another quite easily, but to explain was impossible. This proved mostly to be a problem as they finished their tour and neared the house.

 

‘Signor Malfoy - il vostro fidanzato?’ he asked, looking up as he checked the soil in a pot. Ginny felt herself turning red, yet again. She knew ‘fidanzato’ to mean ‘boyfriend’ or ‘lover’.

 

‘No,’ she said, for this was correct, in some respects.

 

‘Perché?’

 

‘Non so.’ It was true; she didn’t know. She could not explain beyond that because her Italian wouldn’t stretch that far, but also because she didn’t think she could explain it even in English. It struck her that her problem with Signor Moretti was so similar to her problem with Malfoy in that she could only skim the surface of whatever she was trying to say when she opened her mouth. Perhaps that was why she had kissed him so often the night before: it had seemed to be the only response that made any sense in that moment, whilst in the morning the response was to snatch her hand away. She sighed; this was madness, all of it.

 

Signor Moretti touched a hand affectionately to her chin. ‘Bella ragazza,’ he said again, and smiled. Ginny smiled weakly back, accepting this odd comfort and reassurance, not knowing how else to respond. With this, they headed into the villa again, to find everyone shaking hands and smiling. Ginny smiled right along with them: she was impressed that Malfoy could do business, but even more impressed that he could do it because he wanted to, rather than because it would give him power over others.

 

‘Things going well, are they?’ Ginny asked, as Malfoy turned to greet her.

 

‘Very,’ he said. ‘We basically have a deal mapped out; I just need to arrange the paperwork now. It shouldn’t take too long.’

 

‘That’s excellent news. I was looking at the garden.’

 

‘I noticed.’

 

A moment later it occurred to Ginny that the two of them had descended into simply looking at one another and smiling sheepishly. Surely that should have happened before the sex, not afterwards? She looked down at the floor, though her smile faded.

 

‘Like I said, Weasley,’ said Malfoy, ‘you’re incredibly fickle.’ It did not sound like a remark driven by malice, but amusement and perhaps … affection?

 

‘I know, I know,’ she conceded, ‘I’m a terrible person.’

 

‘To atone for your sins, your many sins, fancy a picnic before we head back?’

 

She nodded. ‘That’d be nice.’

 

They ate in the shade of a tree that was halfway up the hill that they had arrived on. Signora Moretti had given them a basket of what appeared to be homemade foods and, of course, wine. Ginny felt completely relaxed as they sat eating, drinking and chatting away. These were the stupid conversations she remembered from their teenage years.

 

‘Have you ever had a Neapolitan Every Flavour Bean?’ Malfoy asked, as he worked his way through a piece of ciabatta and olive oil.

 

‘Of course I haven’t – they don’t exist. Everyone knows it’s just a myth.’

 

‘They do so exist. I knew someone who had eaten one once.’

 

‘As if you did,’ said Ginny, shaking her head.

 

‘I did.’

 

‘Who was it then?’

 

He seemed to think about this for a moment. ‘Well, I don’t remember. But someone did.’

 

‘How can anyone eat something that doesn’t exist?’

 

‘Tell me, Weasley, who’s your flatmate back home?’

 

She groaned, seeing where this was going. ‘Luna Lovegood.’

 

‘And I’m sure she gets you to believe five impossible things before breakfast, doesn’t she?’

 

‘She thinks she does.’ Ginny smiled, thinking of her friend, who she hadn’t seen in a couple of months due to their respective careers. ‘Anyway, sometimes she hits on something that _is_ true. And even Luna doesn’t believe in Neapolitan Every Flavour Beans. You know, each bean is one flavour; that’s three flavours.’

 

‘That’s why it’s so rare, Weasley. One of these days, I’m going to find one, and then I’m going to show it to you to prove it.’

 

‘But you won’t know what it is until you’ve tasted it!’

 

‘Good point.’ They sat in silence for a moment, until Malfoy was apparently struck by inspiration. ‘From now on, I’m going to make sure not to eat a whole bean all at once.’

 

Ginny laughed at the image that formed in her mind of Malfoy cautiously nibbling at Every Flavour Beans. ‘Okay, you do that.’ She sat up on to her knees, brushed the crumbs from her hands onto the grass and poured them each another glass of wine. ‘It’s so depressingly lovely up here.’

 

‘What’s _that_ supposed to mean?’

 

‘It’s depressing because I have to work tomorrow,’ she said. Saying the words aloud made it all the more depressing and true.

 

‘I thought you liked working. Getting yourself a career and all that.’

 

‘I do, I just …’ She trailed off, surveying him cautiously.

 

‘What? You can say it; there’s no Slytherin common room waiting for me to report back.’ Part of Ginny doubted that, there was always a Slytherin common room in one way or another.

 

‘I love Quidditch, right, You know that I’ve always loved it.’

 

‘Yeah, it’s in your blood or whatever.’ She didn’t like the way that he said ‘your blood’, but ignored it.

 

‘It’s just sometimes … I feel like it’s not the most worthwhile thing to be writing about. I mean, what about real news? What about travel journalism? What about plays, novels, and “highly intellectual and subversive poetry”?’ Malfoy grinned. ‘I just feel sometimes that I’m climbing a ladder to nowhere.’

 

‘Well, I reckon you’ve just got to keep pushing with this job … I mean, won’t being a great Quidditch reporter allow you to get jobs elsewhere?’

 

‘I suppose so. Maybe.’ She sighed. ‘I just want more than this – not in the future, but _now_.’

 

‘Weasley, I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but you’re in Italy covering the World Cup – you’ve already covered the most exciting match so far. You’re doing great.’ He took a sip of wine. ‘I’ll tell you exactly what your problem is.’

 

‘What’s that?’

 

‘You hate having a boss. You’ve spent so long rebelling that you’re just used to hating being bossed around. And having a boss who you _like_? How dare she?’

 

Ginny laughed. ‘I hate that you’re right. Hate, hate, hate it.’

 

‘Aww,’ said Malfoy, feigning sympathy. ‘It’s terrible, isn’t it?’

 

‘Yes,’ she agreed. ‘I missed this. This is exactly what I missed.’ She put her wineglass aside, took his from his hand and placed it next to hers. Then she knelt up next to him and kissed him lightly on the lips.

 

‘I missed that,’ he whispered, ‘more than the talking, I have to say.’

 

She did not respond, but kissed him again, this time adding her tongue to the action. She could feel one of his hands on the small of her back, the other on her neck; the sun was beating down and Ginny felt beautiful and alive for a sudden instant. They broke off the kiss, their bodies still incredibly close. His grey eyes seemed to be sucking her in.

 

‘Are you being fickle again, Weasley?’

 

She shook her head ever so slightly. ‘No,’ she whispered, before kissing him briefly once more. When this kiss was broken, she knelt back on to her heels and wondered whether or not she should say what was in her head. Perhaps she should just have a cigarette? No, she decided, best to just say it.

 

‘I think I know what’s bothering me about this thing,’ she said, and she gestured between them with a finger.

 

‘What’s that?’ Malfoy asked.

 

‘Well, it’s great, I’m having a great time … but it’s not going to work back home.’

 

‘Do you really think so?’

 

‘Don’t you?’ It was a question she genuinely wanted answering; if he disagreed with her, then perhaps he could change her mind.

 

‘Honestly, yes I do, but I was blissfully denying it until you chose to point it out.’ Ginny’s heart sank slightly; she was right. There was no way it could work, and neither of them was willing to try. ‘So what’s the solution?’

 

‘Solution?’

 

He sighed. ‘Every problem has a solution, Weasley.’

 

‘I guess, I guess the solution is to agree to go all out on this, let loose and enjoy it whilst we’re here and then…’

 

‘What happens in Italy stays in Italy?’

 

‘Exactly.’

 

Malfoy leaned down close enough to kiss her, but refrained from doing so. ‘We had better start making the best of that then.’

 

‘I agree,’ Ginny said, breathlessly, her heart racing in excitement.

 

‘So if I were to fuck you, right here, right now – no one would ever be the wiser once we get back home?’

 

‘Nope. No one would ever know.’

 

‘I think that’s what I’m going to have to do, then.’

 

 

*

 

 

Ginny woke up in Malfoy’s bed again the following morning. Gwen would kill her if she found out that the _Prophet_ was spending all that money on what was becoming a glorified wardrobe, essentially. She rolled over, to find Malfoy sleeping next to her this time. She couldn’t help but smile, and wrapped an arm over his naked waist. Just five more minutes.

 

‘Get up,’ said Malfoy, his eyes still closed.

 

‘I thought you were asleep.’

 

‘Well I’m not. But you have to get up.’ He shifted his hips in an attempt to deflect her arm. ‘Don’t you have a job to go to?’

 

‘Do I have to?’ She stared up at him, and he opened his eyes to look back.

 

‘Yes,’ he said, ‘unfortunately.’

 

‘Fine.’

 

She showered in her own bathroom, making sure she was dressed, refreshed and ready to go when Gwen knocked at her door.

 

‘Are you ready for some stress?’ she asked; it was clear she was excited about the prospect of the knockout stages of the tournament.

 

‘I’m as ready as I’ll ever be.’ They left the room, and Ginny suppressed the idea to sigh wistfully as they headed down to breakfast for a briefing of their updated itineraries.

 

‘Where were you yesterday? I didn’t see you at all,’ said Gwen, sounding a little _too_ casual.

 

‘I went into the country for a picnic, it was really nice.’ Ginny shrugged, determinedly not looking at Gwen as they made their way through the lobby towards the restaurant.

 

‘On your own?’

 

‘Actually, I was with Draco Malfoy.’ Well, there really was no point in lying when most of your friends were journalists.

 

‘Should I be printing that?’

 

‘As neither of us are Quidditch players, no, you shouldn’t.’

 

‘You know what I mean,’ said Gwen as they sat at their customary breakfast table opposite John (who was using his newspaper to block them out, as usual).

 

‘It’s nothing – we were friends at school, and we haven’t seen one another since then, so we’ve just been hanging out and catching up.’

 

‘I’ve never heard a Weasley and a Malfoy described as “friends” before.’

 

‘Well that’s just further proof that the _Prophet’s_ fact checkers are a pile of shit, isn’t it?’

 

‘You win,’ said Gwen, and they began to drink coffee.

 

Ginny smiled. Pointing out the general ineptitude of fact checkers always won her arguments at the _Prophet_.

 

It occurred to her that although she wanted more than the job she currently had, that didn’t take away the fun of it, nor did it make it worth any less. Sometimes, though, it seemed like anything beyond the present was impossible; she was scared that if she reached too hard for her dreams, they would prove futile. It was easy to look like she had what she wanted but hard to speak up and get it. She didn’t want to blame her relationship with Harry for this trait of hers, but sometimes it was hard not to. She couldn’t quite figure out how to shake it, either.


End file.
